Love Too Late
by Quill and Saber
Summary: Lothiriel talks to her granddaughter about her life with Eomer. Oneshot.


This is my first Lord of the Rings fanfiction in this account. Please comment (or hash to the ground, provided you point out specific details) and leave reviews.

Disclaimer: I don't own LotR. If you couldn't tell that, you need your head examined.

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Oh, yes, little one, I miss your grandfather.

It seems unreal, watching that pale corpse that used to be my husband decked in full regalia as they take him into the mound. Had he been alive, little one, he would have fought with his valet until he would be allowed to wear his 'real clothes.' He used to grumble that the only people that a king had to answer to were everyone else. I am not sure he meant it, but I would laugh at him every time he said it.

I remember the first time I saw your grandfather, little one. It was in the Sun Tower, in the hall there. It is nothing like the Golden Hall whose length you shall run once you can, little one, for the hall in Gondor is made of cool white and black stone. It is very cold for little bare feet, except when there is a big gathering there and the fires are made.

Oh, my father planned it all along. He could not force me to marry, by law, but he could certainly suggest someone. He introduced me to your grandfather early in the evening, before the food was brought out. I also believe he spoke privately to the person who arranged seating, for I found myself sitting between him and your great-uncle Faramir, my cousin. Your grandfather was polite and straightforward at that first meeting, which ended up being the only time we saw each other before we wed. He spoke to my father and the King of Gondor about the situation: that he needed to wed, and he would prefer a bride of Gondor, so that he would not offend his country. Thus, I was chosen. I could have done far worse, little one. He was young, he was honorable. When I got the proposal letter I knew I had to accept his suit.

No, little one, I did not love him then.

I learned early in our marriage that he cared for me and he trusted me. I learned later to trust him in return. Oh, I could never trust him in entirety, for he was a warrior. He would say he would not be injured by the orcs that were attacking the herds of cattle when he would go out to battle them, but then he might arrive back with at least a scratch, or at worst, that wound whose infection took his life. But he would always take care of me, just as he took care of everything put in his charge. He was a very good king, even back in those days where he hardly knew what he was doing; even when he would tell me he was lost, he always somehow took things in the right direction.

We became fond of each other, eventually, but no, little one, I did not love him then either.

It was when your uncle was born that I realized that he loved me; I believe it was also the time when he found it out. Once his firstborn son was put in his arms, I remember seeing him holding that little thing and looking at me with a sort of look that you cannot describe, little one. Yet I knew what it was instantly. I had seen it on my father's face when I was little after he would come home and embrace my mother. I had seen it on the faces of many husbands when they would reunite with their wives after they would return from battle alive and whole. I admit I was not prepared for that look and that knowledge, but I remember the glow of knowing that he loved me, even after all these years. There is nothing quite so wonderful as knowing that someone loves you, little one. You will know it too, once you are grown.

But yet, I still did not love him. And for the first time, that made me uneasy.

I continued to be the best queen I could; I tried to be a consort the country could be proud of. But secretly I felt like a failure; I could not be the loving queen he deserved as such a good man. I continued to bear his children; your mother was the second of four, little one, and my only daughter. I could love the children, but for some reason, I did not love their father.

That worry ate at me for years and years. I tried to hide it from him, knowing he would be angry and sad and I did not want to cause him to be like that just as I do not wish anyone I know to be like that, but I believe he knew. Your grandfather had an ability to see into the hearts of people, little one, though he is almost entirely human. I suppose it is that part of him that is not human—for your grandfather had Nûmenorean blood, though he ignored it—that helped him see that. But he said nothing; never did he even allude. But there was something I could see in his eyes that spoke of sadness. Little one, I believe I broke his heart.

He was still kind to me throughout the years of our marriage and was able to appear happy, if not be glad. The day your uncle Elfwine and his wife announced that my husband would be a grandfather he glowed with joy. The day your mother got married he smiled, though he cried later when no one could see him. And he laughed when your youngest uncle first toddled the length of the Golden Hall. He was a good man and I respected him for this.

But try as I might, I could not love him.

I barely remember receiving word that he was injured in a skirmish, bitten by a warg very badly. He was very old, too old to be out hunting wargs, but nothing could gainsay him when your grandfather made up his mind. He had been taken to a nearby village that was untouched by the pack, as they did not want to move him. The advisors suggested, nay, ordered, that I stay in Edoras, as the area where my husband was still had wargs prowling. He was taken to Edoras a week later, but I did not get to see him. I had been ill myself then, little one, and they did not want to spread the contagion to him. He did not make it out of that room alive, though he actually stayed in that room for over a month. It was then that I felt it, little one.

Finally, after it was too late, I had begun to love him.

Yes, it was only last week when I realized how much he meant to me, little one, precisely six days ago. I miss talking to him, I miss being with him. But little one, you are getting tired and restless. Your mother would want you back so you can be fed and put to sleep. I shall tell you more later, once you are grown.

But heed my words: do not love too late, for then it will be you with the broken heart in the end.


End file.
